


Desperate

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depressed Louis, Difficult Decisions, Drug Use, Falling In Love, M/M, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:49:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate- (adj.) feeling, showing, or involving a hopeless sense that a situation is so bad as to be impossible to deal with.   </p><p> </p><p>Or, the long-winded one where Louis is an excellent footballer, but a hideous person, and Harry decides it's his job to make Louis shine again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Irrelevant

**Author's Note:**

> I'm beginning to cry because of my love for you. Please enjoy my outpouring of the soul.

* * *

*** Louis stepped off the pitch, cleats in hand. His number thirty jersey was caked with mud and sweat from a hard and fruitless charity match against the second worst team in the area. All he wanted to do was rinse the sweat and grime off of his body and-

"Mr. Tomlinson!"

"Mr. Tomlinson, can we have a word?"

"Mr. Tomlinson, what's it like breaking a four game winning streak to lose at a charity match?"

"Why did you choose a charity that supports Alzheimer's research? Is there a personal connection?"

The deluge of rapid-fire questions, snarky reporters, and blinding flashbulbs seemed to press in on Louis, suffocating him. He elbowed through as many of them as he could until finally the crushing weight of post-game adrenaline paired with exhausted anger coaxed from the thoughtless comments from reporters made Louis whirl around to face the sharks with a deadly gaze.

"Look fellas," Louis began, the term of endearment marred by the poison dripping behind it, "I played a shit game, on a bum knee, and my team just lost to the second-lowest rated organization in the country. I chose to play for the Alzheimer's Association charity because my Nan had Alzheimer's. Now," Louis paused, making sure to hit each distinguishable face in the sea of reporters with his no-bullshit glare. "I'll give my full briefing in the press interview tomorrow, which you are all not very cordially invited to. If you please, I'd like to join my team in the locker room and discuss strategies for next week's Halloway Cup." Louis dipped his head in acknowledgement, flicking his sweaty copper hair off of his forehead as he stalked through the mass into the cool, dimly-lit tunnel.

He ripped off his jersey with one hand, gripping his dirt-encrusted cleats with the other. He had to piss something awful, and the run-in with the reporters had only served to enrage him further. As soon as he reached the locker room, Louis tossed his jersey and cleats into the oblong wooden hole marked with a pink post-it reading 'Tomlin. L.' and jogged into the toilet to relieve himself. He finished in the toilet, rinsing his hands off and stripping off his lucky game socks which by now smelled so God-awful that he tossed them in the bin on his way to the showers. It's not like they were lucky anyway, right? He peeled his sticky jock-strap and game shorts off in one go, flinging them to the side to be retrieved later.  _Finally._  Louis reached out and flipped the water on, relishing in the feel of the hot pellets on his match-sore skin. He stood, head bowed under the stream for quite some time, just breathing. His mind was thankfully blank, void of any pressing thoughts. He let the heat of the shower calm his frazzled nerves, grabbing the communal 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body lather off the rack and smeared it all over himself, rinsing away the grime and grit from today's miserable match. When he was clean, Louis shut off the water, blindly padding across the tiled floor to wrap himself in a scratchy towel, courtesy of the other team. When he'd successfully toweled off most of his exposed skin, Louis folded the towel over his waist and trudged sullenly into the locker room. The faces he saw upon entrance must've mirrored his own; defeated, depressed, devastated. They all knew how absolutely ridiculous it was that they had lost to the fucking Tornadoes. Yes, it was for charity, and yes, it didn't actually count; that wasn't the point. The point was, the Tornadoes were the team that played in the minor league and lost by ten points almost every game. The Tornadoes were the team that got outplayed by fucking teenagers. That match had actually been in the press. And the Tornadoes just beat the fucking nationally-acclaimed Lions six to two. Six to fucking two. The other players dipped their heads in silent acknowledgment of Louis, continuing to pack up their gear and sullenly filter out of the locker room. Louis reached into his powder grey duffel and pulled out fresh red socks, black Adidas track pants, and a red Lions pullover, not speaking to any of the three remaining players in the room. They left without a word, and Louis quietly arranged his smelly jersey and cleats in his duffel, donning his clean clothes, and sliding the long strap over his shoulder as he kicked his feet into his flat football sandals. He reached up on top of the wooden cubby-holes and snatched his favorite grey beanie with his free hand, slipping it over his still damp hair to combat the chill he knew would bombard him as soon as he stepped outside the stadium.

Soon Louis was in the tunnel again, going the opposite direction and absentmindedly humming along to the soothing sounds of Beethoven's Fifth that were reverberating from his thin black headphones. As he stepped into the cool evening air, the bubble of crowd noise hit Louis in the chest like a crash dummy, although the sound to his ears was akin to that of hearing someone laugh underwater; the noise was completely distorted, muted. Hundreds of people were queued behind thick black rails to catch a glimpse of the players leaving the stadium. Some held signs, others wore jerseys, even more were caked in body paint and glitter. Louis sighed, reaching in his duffel for his silver Sharpie. This was the part he hated the most about being a footie player. The idea that he was some demi-god sent from above to play football in front of the world was absolute rubbish; he was just some guy who happened to kick a ball in a straight enough direction enough times to get noticed by a pro-leaguer. Louis snorted. _Right_. At the time, Louis had been eighteen years old; too young to know the difference between opportunity and easy money. And too stupid to care. Louis reached the queue and gave a dazzling smile to the young mother who stood practically hanging over the barrier, clutching a replica of his jersey between her tiny fingers. She gasped and spluttered nervously, almost hysterical.

> "I- would you- could you- please, I-" the small brunette woman thrust the jersey at Louis, squeezing her eyes shut as if she were about to receive an injection of some sort.

"Gladly, ma'am. Thanks for coming out. It means a lot." Louis said, forcing his voice to sound grateful, upbeat even. He moved on to the next fan who had grey and ochre face paint on either half of his four year old face, and in his hair and on his small replica jersey bearing the number twenty-two. Louis stooped down so he was at eye level with the youthful dark haired child. "And how old are you, buddy?" Louis inquired in a forced, cheerful tone. At least he hoped he sounded kind; he really wasn't in the mood for all this. The boy held up all ten red-stained fingers and gave Louis a toothy grin, displaying the massive gap in the front of his mouth from his missing front teeth. "Ten? That's a bit old for someone as small as you, mister. Are you sure about that?" The little boy nodded and Louis forced out a breathy chuckle, moving down the line as quickly as he could. It was getting dark now- he had a two hour drive back to Laucester.

When he'd zipped through the last autograph and smiled his last electric smile, Louis popped his headphones back on and jogged to his cherry red R8. _Why is it that when I hate life the most, I have an even harder time trying to get through it?_   Louis threw his duffel onto the passenger seat and climbed in, preparing for the long journey home. He let his mind wander as he turned out of the car park and made his way onto the freeway, mulling over the results of the match, his wounded ego, and the anger that seemed to be roiling just under the surface of his fragile facade. Louis could barely contain the rage that seeped from his every pore, scarcely maintaining his composure on the pitch most days. Just two practices ago he'd about bashed Sam's head into the goal for missing his open. That was only a single incident. It didn't even begin to cover the extensive repertoire of injuries he'd inflicted on teammates and other footie players in his four years of pro leaguing. Not that he minded. The ridiculous pension he was on guaranteed him the best attorneys in the UK, and so far, he hadn't owed a dime to anyone. The press, however, did their best to paint him as a bad ass with a chip on his shoulder. If they only knew. Snorting to himself, Louis pressed his foot harder or the accelerator, minimizing the time he'd have to spend pausing for inconvenient things such as turnabouts and pedestrian crossings.

When he dropped his duffel and dirt encrusted ombré cleats on the cold, callous, pearl-marble flooring of his lobby, Louis sighed. He was exhausted. Emotionally, physically, mentally, Louis had nothing to offer in that moment except the gnawing void within himself that whispered dark sentiments into his very soul; he doubted even the devil himself would be capable of spinning a more ghoulish web. Unwilling to even make the trek up to his panoramic master suite, Louis pressed an indicator on the cherry-wood side panel that ran along the granite column next to the ornately carved oak door; revealing a grand king size bed- but bed wasn't even an accurate description- which slid out from the neutral sand-shaded wall. Gratefully, Louis kicked his sandals to the floor and ripped off his sweatshirt, throwing himself on top of the mattress and immediately dropping into the deepest, most peaceful slumber he'd experienced in a very long time.

* * *

The next morning, Louis woke drenched in sweat, his limbs tangled in hot, damp silver sheets. "Shit. Darla!" Louis rolled out of bed and onto the cool marble floor on his hands and knees, basking in the soothing numbness of the tiles on his feverish skin. "Darla!" Louis yelled for his housekeeper again. She must've turned the damn heat on last night. _Why_? Just as Louis opened his lips to call for her again, a breathless woman in her early thirties came tumbling into the lobby from the direction of the sports wing. Her auburn hair was frizzy and disheveled, her eyes wild with fright, cheeks flushed with fear and frazzled nerves.

> "Sorry, Mr. Tomlinson, Sir, I was cleaning the windows in the tennis room, I swear I thought I-" Louis held up a hand, silencing the blabbering girl long enough to stand and stretch languidly, scratching his bare stomach absently.

"Darla, did you turn the heat on last night?" He asked, studying Darla quietly. The young woman's face flamed, and her chin drooped so that her hazel eyes were no longer visible beneath her long lashes. "Darla!" Louis barked, rather harshly, making her jump.

"Yes Sir! Yes, Sir. I- it's the baby, Sir. I have trouble staying warm at night." Darla murmured softly, tugging on the hem of her grey work shirt. Louis sighed. _Of course. The baby. How could he forget?_  Louis glanced at Darla once again, appraising her like a buyer would a prospective property.  _Six months, now? Seven? Time to look for temporary help, I suppose_.

"Dar, I think it's time for you to take a vacation. Take eleven months, paid. Go somewhere nice with your fiancée. Make sure that baby of yours gets a good start, yeah? And if you need anything, don't hesitate to call Derek, he'll set you up with a midwife, hospital, anything you need, yeah?"

Darla nodded gratefully, thanking him profusely as she skidded down the long corridor to their right, the service wing. Louis had carefully peeled away his tough skin long enough to see that his head housekeeper was taken care of in the final few months of her pregnancy and quickly rebuilt his exterior, leaving no trace of generosity- or humanity- in sight. "Stupid fucking heating, fucking pissing me off." Louis grumbled to himself, not bothering to retrieve his belongings from the previous night as he slugged down another wing of his massive estate toward the culinary wing.

Walden Estate was a grand piece of real estate, larger than any in its class. The grandiose property stretched out in six directions, like a wheel, the main part of the building housing four stories of rooms, toilets, master baths, libraries, swimming pools, and any other luxury demanding of a billionaire salary. Practically every fantastical amusement one could dream up dwelled within the confines of Walden. Louis didn't care- it was all too immense for just himself anyway. It was accommodating occasionally when his agent Diann demanded he throw "a fucking party for Chrissakes!" In which case Louis was grateful for the extra space to escape from the wandering eyes- and hands- of far too many unsuitable bachelorettes. Upon entering the grand kitchen area, Louis heard nothing but the padding of his own feet across the cold hardwood floor.

"Frenchie?" Louis called. He felt like he was forever summoning people to come to his aid- if only that were true- they healed his body, not his spirit. An energetic older man with sandy blond hair tousled recklessly across his sunburnt forehead came bounding into the kitchen, purposefully striding toward the gigantic double refrigerator with a blinding grin on his weathered face.

"Aye, Lou! How ya doin'?" The man asked Louis, reaching into the massive jaws of the stainless steel cavern and extracting a plate of four sunny side up eggs, three slices of twelve grain toast, and two extra crispy hash browns, piling all the retrieved contents into the heavy duty microwave and pressing the automatic heat selector, allowing the machine to begin reheating the food with a cheerful 'beep' that Louis definitely did not acknowledge.

"Hey Frenchie, would you mind grabbing an orange juice to go, as well?" Louis asked sullenly. The blond man Louis addressed as Frenchie grinned, nodding enthusiastically but not saying a word. Louis' employees knew his moods better than he did, sometimes. They definitely knew not to push his buttons. "Thanks mate. If you could leave a pro-Ten on the bar for later, that'll be all for today. I have a press review at five this evening and I plan on eating out." Louis informed his head chef, who grinned and retrieved Louis' now steaming breakfast from the microwave, setting the hot plate down near Louis on the sandstone and marble countertop. Louis nodded his approval before Frenchie handed him a cloth napkin, fork, butter knife, and butter ball. Louis waved Frenchie away and began to take minuscule bites of his eggs. After four bites, he couldn't eat anymore. And although he knew it was extremely unsavory for his health especially considering his profession, he shoved the still full plate of food over to the triple barrel sink, wiping his mouth in disgust. _It's getting worse. I'm getting worse._

* * *

Louis tried to concentrate on what his media specialist was trying to explain to him as he straightened his silver silk tie over his button down, but he just couldn't. Memories from a lifetime ago danced around in his head, taunting him.

_You'll never amount to anything, faggot._

_You think you're so smart, but you're such a fucking twat._

_You know why you have two dads? Because you're a fucking alien._

_You aren't like us, TomlinFAGGOT, you can't be in our league._

 "Louis!" The media specialist, Natalie snapped her fingers in front of Louis' face impatiently. "There's gonna be a bunch of hoitey-toitey snarks there tonight, so watch that bark of yours, huh? Oh and I forgot to tell you earlier, a young man by the name of Styles-something or other has been hounding me for the past couple of days with some proposition he wants to share with you." Natalie's voice carried a note of indifference as she waved a hand about dismissively. "I told him he could take it up with you personally at the gala afterwards. He seemed really interested." Natalie's words faded into a fog as Louis' mind wandered, suddenly conjuring up potential faces of this mysterious Styles character. Needless to say, the press interview flew by, and Louis felt himself actually growing a bit nervous as the time of the gala approached. Finally, he made his way from the press room into the grand room of the hotel where they'd held the interviews for the entire franchise. The hotel was putting on this gala in honor of the franchise' founder, Bruce Carmichael, who happened to be one of the biggest wigs in the business. But that wasn't what had Louis' heart in a state as he practically raced to his assigned table, flying into the chair marked 'L. Tomlin.' and adjusting his tie. There were only two other name cards at his table. A Mr. 'D. Finch.' On Louis' left, and on his right, Louis gulped nervously, reading the card slowly, torturously: Mr. 'H. Styles.'

"Hey, Lou! Good t' see you!" Dan flopped unceremoniously into the chair on Louis' left, popping a button on his blazer open, revealing the epitome of a beer gut. Louis forced a sardonic grimace onto his face and attempted to make small talk with his old university mate, internally cursing his hands which were growing more and more perspirous by the second. The enigmatic 'H' was still absent. For some reason, that bothered Louis. It really did irk him. This 'H' guy was the one who'd harassed his employee practically begging for an opportunity to present his work to Louis, and then had the gall to arrive late, if at all. Louis clenched his clammy fists in his lap.

Right as the host called for attention, Louis felt someone glide gracefully into the navy chair on his right. Immediately, the scent of the person's cologne wafted through the air, making Louis squirm. _Damn, that smells good._ Louis discreetly tilted his head a bit to get a glimpse of the person beside him. If he was being honest, it was also to get a better whiff of the heady cologne. The host began going through pleasantries and other uppity protocol, but Louis paid no attention to the heavyset, balding man up on the platform. He was in a state of pure shock at the appearance of Mr. 'H. Styles.'

'H' was a charming young man who looked to be in his early twenties. His thick chestnut hair was swept up off of his forehead in a style that was quite popular these days, the locks carefully disheveled with an air of nonchalance about them. His pale forehead held no sign of wrinkles- he wasn't a worrier- and his angular jaw was absolutely breath-taking. His immaculately plucked eyebrows rose thoughtfully over his feathery, dark lashes seductively, as if they were meant to put a spell on the beholder. And his eyes, Louis had to remind himself to breathe! His eyes were the most captivating feature in his face thus far, Louis decided. While the host droned on and on about the reason for the gala, Louis tried to study 'H' in greater detail. 'H' had little flecks of amber in his eyes, surrounded by a sea of emerald and shale. When put into the context of his face, 'H' seemed vibrant. His full peach lips were slightly puckered, and he appeared to listen with rapt attention to their host, his long eyelashes fluttering up and down every so often as he blinked. Louis was smitten, for sure. He was still miffed that the young gentleman hadn't made more of an effort to be punctual, but he was definitely losing his earlier fire. By the time their host called for the first course to be brought out, Louis was more than a little distracted. He hadn't built up the nerve to begin questioning the young entrepreneur, and was now fidgeting in his seat, trying to pick up more of the conversation between Dan and the young man, whom he now understood was called Harry. It suited him. Charming, historic, a little eccentric- Louis adored it.

"-so I says to 'im, I says, 'Hey, Baldy! Take that fat piece 'a lard somewheres' else, 'fore I kick 'er there myself!" Dan guffawed, breaking down into a boom of raucous laughter, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He slammed the table with his meaty hand, jostling the place cards and table settings with his exaggerated movements. Louis chanced a glance at Harry, who was eyeing Dan with a slightly embarrassed smile, like that of an adolescent humoring their parent with a response even though they don't understand the joke. Harry flicked his eyes over to Louis, shrugging minutely as if to say, 'what can you do, eh?' Louis gulped and maneuvered his lips into the semblance of a closed smile. _God, get over yourself Tomlinson, you're acting as though you've never seen an attractive man before_. Louis chided himself, shifting in his seat. The caterers arrived with their plates, fresh veal and vinegar, topped with lemon, garlic and clove, surrounded by mountains of home style mashed sweet potato.

Another server appeared, placing a bottle of red wine in the center of their table with a flourish.

"Enjoy, sirs."

"Thank you." Harry replied, tilting his face up to grace the server with a dazzling grin. The waiter colored and rushed off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving imaginary dust clouds in his wake. Louis began breathing again, unable to tear his gaze away from an oblivious Harry who was presently unwrapping his silverware methodically, the way one would peel a banana. Louis' mind was blank. Harry had the voice of a god, this deep, scratchy sound that floated rather than boomed. It was seductive and rich, causing goosebumps to ripple along Louis' exposed forearms. Louis replayed those two words in his head, committing to memory the precise inflection Harry gave to the end of the word 'you' as well as each slight distinction in his accent from the way his lips curved around the words. And those lips! Louis changed his mind about Harry's eyes being his most outstanding feature- it was his lips. They were fantastic puffy little puckers of flesh, devoted to teasing the shit out of Louis, and only Louis. He was certain that Harry was meshing his lips into each other on purpose, attempting to drive Louis insane. And it was working. Each time Harry's lips collided, they darkened and swelled the slightest bit more.

When Louis could stand it no more he cleared his throat, abruptly halting the tirade Dan was currently on about with a flick of his eyes in the direction of the toilet. Dan excused himself and hurried off in the opposite direction, steering himself toward the desserts. Louis turned to Harry and settled his expression into one of severity.

"Mr. Styles," Louis began, pleased that his voice didn't betray the butterflies that were dancing a salsa in his stomach. "I'm to understand you were harassing my staff in order to make your appearance tonight?" Louis quirked an eyebrow, studying the way Harry fidgeted about in his seat, unable to meet Louis' gaze. From the angle Louis was seated, he could just make out a faint blush on Harry's cheeks. _Little fucker is embarrassed, I'll be damned._ Louis waited patiently for Harry to formulate his response. When he finally lifted his head, Louis was surprised- and a bit turned on- to see a smirk gracing the young man's plump lips.

"I called her twice. And I emailed your personal account, but I'm guessing you probably don't check your email too often." Harry said, leaning back in his chair comfortably. He wasn't falling for Louis' no nonsense approach, so Louis decided to kick it up a notch. He leaned forward, resting his elbows in a calculated manner on the pale blue table cloth.

"So you illegally obtained not only one of my employees' personal information, but you broke through the firewall as well? Because you know, none of that information is public knowledge. Mr. Styles, I must say, I'm impressed. My IT hasn't been able to decode that fucker for months. Kudos to you." Louis smirked at Harry, who now bore an expression of shock, mixed with another emotion Louis couldn't decipher.

"I, I'm sorry, I thought those files were under public record I had no idea they. . ." Harry trailed off, his cheeks flushing once again. _Got him._ Louis grinned triumphantly, his mission successful.

"Oh, Harry. Silly Harry. I would've thought someone of your caricature would be more in tune with the art of deception." Louis chuckled, watching as confusion, understanding, embarrassment, and finally anger crossed Harry's delicate features. His face flamed, although this time it was due to pure rage, rather than self conscious embarrassment.

"You- I- but- HOW DARE YOU!?" Harry roared, causing every perfectly styled head to turn in their direction. Harry bolted from the table, knocking half the contents of their table to the floor. Louis watched in nonchalant bemusement as the horrendously attractive, angry young man stormed into the toilets.

 _Well, Mr. Styles. It seems you and I share similar qualities of character. I do believe I'm beyond enamored. Not a good idea._  

* * *

F _ag._

_You're only here because your dad's head coach._

_No one should have to change near you._

_You're a fucking waste of space._

_Go fuck yourself- I'm sure you'll enjoy that more than you should anyway._

_Don't touch me, you queer._

Louis woke shivering in his cream colored duvet, a cold sheen of sweat lacing his forehead and sticky limbs. He blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the post-dream tears that dripped from his eyes and down his nose in sloppy rivulets. They continued swirling rapidly down his cheeks, making him gasp and cough in a most unbecoming fit of hiccups. He kicked off his duvet and slipped his naked feet into his favorite warm fuzzy red slippers, agonizingly shuffling across the pale white carpet in the direction of his master bath. He didn't bother turning a light on, but he did reach for the African tree-frog nightlight that sat attached to the socket next to the light dial.

Still sniffling, Louis morosely flicked the switch on the frog, squinting as the bathroom was filled with the soft orange light from the tiny plastic appliance.

After Harry had so dramatically retreated to the confines of the men's room, Louis decided to wait out the storm in comfort, retiring to the lounge area for the remainder of the evening. About an hour into the event, a very contrite- and ruddy-cheeked- Harry reappeared, apologizing profusely for his unbecoming behaviour. Louis took pity on the young man, also apologizing for his underhanded trick, and the two spent the rest of the night deep in conversation concerning Harry's magnificent idea that he had so desperately wanted to share with the renowned footballer.

Harry worked with a charity organization that specialized in providing children of incarcerated parents with good homes, education, and coping tools for the long term. Harry's grand idea was quite simple.

In cooperation with his charity, Better Life, he wanted Louis to help organize a football club for the children involved. It would not only help the children, but also the charity to receive publicity, raise awareness about the effects of incarceration on children, and would help Louis remove some of the bad publicity he'd been victim to recently.

Louis listened with rapt attention as Harry explained the process and the steps needed for such and undertaking, focusing on the delicate way Harry's lips curved around his words, the dimple that appeared on his left cheek when he realized he was speaking with his hands, those hands! Long, slender fingers that waved about spastically as Harry described the facility in which most of Better Life's activities and fundraisers took place. As the end of the gala drew near, Louis became aware of an odd feeling in his chest. It seemed he was almost dreading the close. He was actually enjoying Harry's company. So he did what any man with a new infatuation would do.

"Let me get your number so we can talk more about this. I'm quite liking where your mind is on this, Styles. 'Think it's got real potential." Louis said, dropping all the formalities and proper idiosyncrasies he'd employed upon Harry's arrival, reverting back to the tone he'd use with an old friend. Harry seemed slightly surprised at the change in Louis' behavior, quirking an eyebrow at the dapper gentleman who held his flashy phone out expectantly. Louis smirked, pushing his nerves deep down in his stomach as he quelled the slight tremor in his outstretched palm. "What? Didn't think I could speak like a normal human being, eh?"

"No, no, I just didn't think I'd get your number on the first date. I usually don't get that lucky 'til the second or third." Harry recovered quickly, returning Louis' smirk with one of his own, his dimple doing things to Louis nether regions. Louis blinked. He'd never had his own wit dished back at him so eloquently, and frankly, it was damn sexy. Louis felt his face growing warm, the tips of his ears becoming hotter than a branding iron.

"I, who says this was a date? No one paid for anything and I sure as hell didn't ask your ass out." Louis spluttered, feeling agitated that Harry's swooping chestnut hair and beguiling green eyes could so easily seduce him into losing his sense of speech. Harry chuckled, handing Louis his phone and patting his hand gently.

"Well we certainly enjoyed each others' company much more than anyone else's. Just call a duck a duck, mate. And I'd love to do this again. Preferably at a nicer venue. I'll call you tomorrow at ten." Harry grinned and gathered his coat, leisurely making his way to the open reception area. Louis stood, dumbfounded.

 _What even was that_?

Louis blinked, reorienting himself with the present. He gripped the blue cobalt edge of the sink with both hands, staring blankly at his white, oxygen-deprived knuckles. _Am I really going to do this again?_ Louis shook his hair out of his eyes and flicked the diamond-encrusted knob on the top of the faucet, allowing a jet of icy water to drench his outstretched fingers. He splashed the refreshing water onto his face, blinking rapidly to clear it from his eyes. Sighing, he switched off the faucet and turned to his right, blindly reaching for his favorite plush towel. He grabbed the fluffy material with one hand and brought it to his face, dabbing away the wetness. Satisfied, Louis retraced his motions and flicked off the nightlight, tripping over his own slipper-clad feet in the sudden absence of light.

"Shit, fuck. God what is wrong with me?" Louis muttered to himself, stumbling back to his monstrous bed. He groggily fumbled around at the edge of the mattress, searching for his phone. Upon retrieving it from the mass of blankets, he groaned. It was one in the morning. He had hoped it was at least six, so he could justify a nice, long, relaxing run on the track downstairs in the sports wing, but not even security would be up this early. They usually weren't awake until five- he had everything programmed to automation between the hours of midnight and five thirty to give the night security a break. Louis lazily kicked off his slippers and crawled pitifully back into bed, praying that the nightmares would consider themselves successful for tonight and leave him be until some time in the far distant future. ***


	2. Sad Music Is Only Sad When You're Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry likes quirky things, I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I find I'm having to lengthen these chapters because I don't like them looking so short...Any questions, please don't hesitate to ask. Also, if you have any mood music, or any songs you listen to when you're desolately depressed, I'd appreciate suggestions. I'll credit you in my next notes. Thank you and enjoy my deluge of thoughts and emotions.

* * *

 

Louis felt warm. Comfortable, even. He stretched cautiously, suspicious of the eerily moderate temperature of the room. He dared not open his eyes, just in case it was one of his nightmares. They had an uncanny ability to make him relax, and suddenly toss him into fits of terror without warning. He could feel a trace of late morning sunlight on his cheeks which warmed his face considerably. Louis debated drifting back to sleep for a couple more hours, but the obnoxious screeching of his phone postponed that train of thought. Groaning, he fidgeted around for the noise maker, still without opening his eyes. He blindly slid the lock open and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Mhmm..." Louis mumbled, yawning widely. He heard a scratchy, deep chuckle on the other end and nearly threw his phone across the vast expanse of his room. He attempted to regain control of the slippery device and finally managed to bring it back to his ear with shaky fingers. "I mean, I mean hello?" Louis tried again, his voice wobbling slightly.

"Hello, Sunshine. Did you get your beauty sleep?" Harry's warm, amused voice stirred something in Louis' spirit, making him feel slightly fuzzy around the edges. He felt a languid smile forming on his lips. Then he realized what Harry had asked. Beauty sleep? Louis hardly had enough sleep to justify the word itself. He coughed.

"Yeah, yeah. What about yourself?" Louis queried, for once genuinely interested. He heard the crack of an aluminum can being opened, and pursed his lips.  _Soda, Styles? I don't think so. We'll have to knock that habit out of you._

 _"_ Eh _,_ I slept alright, I guess. I was too nervous to sleep more than a few hours, though." Harry replied cryptically. Louis raised his eyebrows, although Harry couldn't see that from Louis' master suite.

"Why is that?"

"Two reasons. For one, I'm meant to be talking with you about the junior club, but I can't get your lips out of my mind. And for two, I'm supposed to be asking you out for our second date, and I don't know where to take you!" Harry practically moaned, causing Louis to suck his breath in harshly. He pressed his free hand against the fabric of his grey pajama bottoms, trying to suppress his sudden reaction to such a sensual sound rolling off Harry's lips.  _Don't think about them don't think about them don't think about them._

"Well, shit." Louis clamped his mouth shut. Did he really just say that aloud? Harry chuckled on the other end of the line. Louis heard slight rustling, and decided to stretch his own aching legs.

"You kiss your mother with that potty mouth?" Harry asked, the humor seeping through each word. Louis rolled his eyes and padded across the carpet to the right side of his room, tapping a three-digit code on the panel against the wall that would activate his electric fireplace in the far corner.

"I would never. And I don't even have a mother. So, what's on the agenda for today, Styles?" Louis urged, leaning back against the solid white wall. He found himself imagining the soft roll and swell of Harry's tender lips as they formed around the words that rippled off of them like hot bubbles of air.

". . . And that about sums it up. Well aside from our date. What about you, Mr. Football star?" Harry snickered, as if to say, 'I know you didn't hear a word I've just said.' He would be right, of course. Louis felt his face burn in shame. What was his problem? He hardly knew Harry at all.  _Which is why we're going out tonight._

"Eh, I dunno, I'm thinking about taking a run later on. And I might go over the rosters for junior club with my agent as well, but it depends on her mood, honestly." Louis ended with a genuine laugh, and automatically, he froze out of habit. The sudden silence was deafening, and Louis felt his heart palpitate. "Uh, I have to go. I'll talk to you later."

And with that, Louis switched his phone completely off, not bothering to hear Harry's befuddled queries on the opposite end. He found himself scrambling to his closet, digging out his grey indoor trainers, a pair of performance sport shorts, his favorite pair of neon orange training socks, and his headphones. It was as though he was being chased. And maybe he was.

* * *

 

Louis tapped the four digit code into the seemingly complicated padlock on the glass door leading to the entrance of his own personal track with a shaking hand. His breathing was ragged, distressed. He stepped inside the temperature-controlled space and ripped off his pajama bottoms, quickly replacing them with the black shorts, and slipping his socks and trainers on in one step. With a practiced maneuver, Louis connected his headphones to his phone which now rested securely in the zippered pocket of his shorts. Tying his laces, Louis did his best to stop the demons from overtaking his mind.

_You don't deserve to laugh._

_You mean nothing to me._

_I don't even love you._

_I've never loved you._

_If you ever laugh again, I'll fucking choke the life out of you._

Louis gasped, a searing, emotional pain erupting in his chest. He raised himself to his feet and began stretching his limbs, trying to block out the voices that haunted him.

_You're such a fucking waste._

_Why are you even here?_

_You don't deserve to live._

He clamped his eyes shut, running through his warm ups on autopilot, only dwelling on the solace that would come once his feet were in motion. Minutes later, Louis was sipping water from his favorite orange bottle, prepping himself for the run. The torment was continuous.

_Why are you trying so hard if you know I will never love you?_

_You can't be good at anything if you're gay._

_The only thing you've got going for you is football, and if they find out you're a fag, that'll be gone, too._

_Do you really want to be nothing for the rest of your life?_

_Don't be stupid, boy. No one can know who you really are._

_You can't be gay._

It seemed like hours later that Louis was frantically pounding his feet into the tough track, desperate to escape the torture inside his head. The voices were muted; distorted now. The melancholy strains of Bach washed over him through his headphones, and he embraced the music. Music and running were the only two occupations that could drag his soul out of the darkness in which it dwelled. His legs and arms propelled his body around the track at a quick, unlabored pace. He could run faster. He pumped his arms a centimeter further out from his body, and elongated his stride by a minuscule amount. His feet his the track with a rhythm that mimicked the music in his ears.  _Pit-pat pit-pat pit-pat pit-pat pit-pat pit-pat._ He could no longer hear the voices. His mind was filled with music, the rushing of his own blood through his veins, and the steady  _pit-pat pit-pat_ from his feet pounding out the rhythm of his heart song on the track. Yes, this was his heart song. The losing of himself in the rhythm of something else as simple as carrying your body around an oblong shape for an infinite length of time. Or maybe his heart song was simply to lose himself. Because really, did he know himself, at all?

* * *

 

"Oh shit."

Louis groaned in disdain, clutching his traitorous phone in one hand, and a towel around his waist with the other. After his run, he'd indulged in a glorious shower that left him feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and absolutely horrified. He looked at the hideous 'five missed calls' alert that blinked innocently up at him from the screen.

"Shit, shit, shit Diann is gonna kill me!" He swore again and again, sweeping around his room like a whirlwind, picking up a shirt here, trousers there, socks from the floor, a necktie off his dresser. When he was semi positive he'd gathered enough articles of clothing to constitute an outfit, Louis dropped his phone on his fluffy white duvet and proceeded to don each garment in a calculated manner. His phone began its signature screeching again, but Louis was across the room, currently squeezing his powder black loafers onto both feet simultaneously. "Why, why!" Louis moaned, awkwardly shuffle-hopping to the massive bed from the closet, his unstyled copper hair flopping frivolously into his eyes. He grabbed the phone and slid the answer button, glancing briefly at the ID.  _Diann_.

"For God's sake, Lou, why don't you ever answer your fucking phone!" Diann's throaty, wispy voice stood in stark contrast to her words, which were laced with venom. Louis winced, finally sticking his feet all the way into the delinquent shoes. He held the phone to his ear as he directed himself into the echoing bathroom to scrounge up some hair paste and cologne.

"I'm sorry, Di. I went for a run at eleven and didn't see you called until just now." Louis pressed the hidden panel on the side of the cream wall facing the multifaceted open shower and waited for the panel to rotate.

"Do you realize it's almost two thirty and you were supposed to call me at noon? Lou, we need to talk about the rages, honey. They're getting worse. And the media is noticing." Diann said softly, the bite now missing from her tone. Louis sighed. He knew his tantrums were worsening, but there wasn't much he could do about them if he wanted to continue playing football at the level in which he was currently employed. Drugs were an absolute no-no when it came to pro-league. Sure, an over-the-counter once or twice was permissible, but the level of narcotics that were necessary to quell Louis' nightmares, anxiety, depression, and anger would put any professional permanently out of a career and possibly in rehab. Louis hated the Pros, but he despised the thought of leaving football because he was doped up for  _crying at night._

"I know, Di. I'll go see Doc West next Saturday, after the Cup."

"No, Lou," Diann rebutted Louis' promise insistently. "I need you to go sooner than that. I can't have you getting ejected from the Cup because you brutalized another player on national television. And some of your teammates have been talking about cutting you until you can control your temper. This is serious, babe." Diann's endearment was soured by her harsh words. Louis frowned.  _They want to kick me off the team?_

"Alright, I'll go tomorrow." Louis complied, mentally kicking himself for not seeing this coming. How could he have missed such a blatant signal? But Diann was already onto her next conquest, talking about this new idea of a football club that some guy had called earlier about.  _Wait a minute._

"-sounds like it could really work." Diann said, pausing for breath.

"Hold on, you said football club for kids with incarcerated parents?" Louis clarified, his suspicions aroused.

"Yeah, some guy called me this morning, said he talked to you about it. That you were on board?" Diann said, sounding perplexed. Louis gritted his teeth.  _Stop calling my people, Styles. Not cool. Very unprofessional._

"Yeah, I'm on board. I'll call you next week and we can talk about it. Thanks for checking up on me, Di." Louis said, sincerely thankful for such a conscientious agent.

"Don't forget to see Doctor West tomorrow, okay? Keep in touch." Diann said, promptly ending the call.

Louis sighed. Sometimes he wished he'd never been born.

Just as he was about to set his phone on his cherrywood dresser, it rang again.

 

 

> "Call me Mr. Popular, today." Louis dead panned, sliding the answer button. "Hello, customer service speaking, how may I help you?" Louis spoke in monotone, not checking the ID.

"Hello Comedy Relief, I didn't know we were role playing. I like it! Do you also take requests?" Harry's voice had Louis gasping in surprise.  _Little shit._

"Hey Styles, care to tell me why you called yet another of my employees today?" Louis asked, adjusting his tie. He could practically hear Harry blushing profusely on the other end.

"I just wanted to make sure you weren't gonna back out on me. It's happened before, I'm just taking precautions." Harry said solemnly. Louis felt his petty annoyance dissolve as he realized the implications of Harry's statement.  _Someone let you down._ Louis suddenly felt sympathy for the bright entrepreneur.

"I won't let you down, Styles."

"So you'll come bowling with me tonight at seven, then?" Harry's low, eager voice made Louis chuckle.  _Why do I bother?_

 _"_ Bowling _?_ Do you realize we're full grown adults? I'm twenty-three years old! I have a bad knee, and if I walk into a place like that I'll get mobbed! It's happened before." Louis complained, shuddering at the memories of the dreaded trip to Disney he'd taken shortly after joining the Lions. Adventure land had been shut down because no one could get in or out. He heard Harry laugh.

"Humor me."

* * *

"Are you sure this is the turn? I'm pretty sure we just passed it." Harry said, whipping around in the passenger seat to look for the street signs indicating that this was indeed the correct street. Louis huffed in annoyance, flicking his eyes from the GPS on the dashboard to the road multiple times.

"Calm down, Harry. I know where I'm going." Louis ordered, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as they neared a silver SUV that was very obnoxiously attempting to parallel park in their path. "Jesus, person can you not?" Harry roared, seemingly aggravated for Louis' sake. Louis bit his lip, swerving as the SUV braked directly in front of them. He fought to regain control of his own Mazda, fighting a smile. Harry sounded so vehement; so  _violent._ It didn't fit his personality at all.

"Calm down there, Thor. Don't go throwing your hammer too soon; I might need saving later." Louis teased, a genuine smile forming on his lips. The feeling was foreign. Louis couldn't recall the last time he'd experienced true happiness. It was freeing. Frightening.

Harry grimaced as Louis maneuvered the car, squealing into a parking space in front of 'Pat's Bowling,' a dinky, out dated brick building that practically screamed sixties retro and drug-fueled discos.

Louis raised an eyebrow speculatively. "Have you been here before? Do you know the owner? Will there be press, do you know? I can't get any more bad press. Are we safe here?"

Harry remained silent as he eyed Louis who was shutting off the ignition and ducking out of the car into the cool evening air. Louis huffed.

Coming here was already pushing it, and if Harry had never been here before that was all the more reason to turn around and head home. Louis quickly followed Harry onto the crumbling sidewalk, rapidly catching up to the long-legged young man who was brutishly clomping along the cement in a hurried, sulking manner.

"Harry." Louis barked, frustrated that the suave man was ignoring his inquiries quite noticeably. The pair tromped into the dimly lit building, the bell above the door announcing their entry.

Louis was immediately bombarded by the dank, musty scent of the mandatory bowling shoes and the competing aroma of wood polish. The combination was nearly overpowering, and Louis felt his eyes begin to water.  _Why did I agree to this?_

The corny polka music and chatter of over half a dozen people rolling the massive marble bowling balls down the wooden lanes clashed with the almost unbearable silence in Louis' mind.

He was so out of sorts that his face slammed into the back of Harry's dark amber leather jacket before he could even register the sensation of cow hide against the bridge of his nose. He stumbled backward, muttering 'I'm sorry's' and 'I wasn't looking's' profusely as Harry spun around, frustration evident in the icy glare he was directing at the footballer.

"Can you not?" Harry spat venomously, his eyes blazing. Louis froze, the tone in Harry's voice sparking a rather unpleasant memory in Louis' mind.

 _"Why can you not understand such a simple command, Louis? I asked you to put the towels on the right side of the rack, and you couldn't even do that. You're such a failure. I don't even know why I let you stay. Maybe it's because I know no one else will ever want you. You're_  trash."

 _And then the beatings began_.

Louis closed his eyes against the rush of ghost pains that assaulted his body, causing him to flinch and start involuntarily. He was unaware of the rest of the world, his mind overtaken by the reality of his past that came forcing itself upon him in an unwarranted attack. The kicks to his abdomen seemed to come from every angle, the punches to his jaw and nose relentlessly rained down on him from an unseen assailant as he let out fragile, broken cries. Louis struggled to halt the flow of tears that streamed from his eyes in a torrent, unable to contain the fear that wrapped around his body like a vice. The pain was unbearable; he let it consume him almost gratefully embracing the feeling of helplessness that drove him to his knees.

"Louis!" Harry's frantic voice brought him back from the pain slowly, and Louis shuddered violently. "Louis, you need to get off the floor. Hurry, please babe." Louis hardly registered Harry's use of the endearing term and struggled to pick himself up off the floor. "Come on, let's go to the back so we have some privacy, yeah?" Louis was vaguely aware of Harry's warm hand on his elbow, gently directing him to the back room that the owner was worriedly ushering them to with frenzied hand motions and gestures.

He let Harry lead him to the folding chair in the corner of the storage room, his feet no more than lead weights attached to his currently useless legs. The phantom pains were fading, but the memories lingered cold and non-discriminatory in his mind. As soon as his bottom connected with the metal chair, Louis let his his head drop into his hands.

"Why? Why me?" He whimpered, self loathing and anguish roiling in his stomach. He felt a warm hand smooth cautiously over his hair and at first he stiffened, until he realized it was only Harry doing what any concerned date would do in such a situation.

"Hey, hey, it's alright." Harry murmured softly, his fingers more confidently sweeping through Louis' hair as he consoled the footballer with gentle words. Louis felt his head inclining into Harry's touch, unaccustomed to the comforting gesture. He whimpered involuntarily, finding Harry's hand in his hair a soothing replacement to the aching emptiness he felt.

Eventually Louis lifted his head, feeling much more serene. He flicked his eyes up to gaze at Harry expectantly, figuring the chestnut-haired man would want to leave such a poor excuse for a man before Louis completely crumbled in front of his eyes.

 

 

> "Well, aren't you going to leave? I'm sure the paps will already have photos of this whole thing online by now. You wouldn't want to be seen with such a decrepit imbecile, right?" Louis asked, laughing weakly. He held Harry's gaze evenly, unsure of the thoughts flickering behind those captivating forest green eyes. Harry blinked, his expression still unreadable. Louis realized Harry's hand was still tangled in his hair and suddenly he felt shy.  _Why do I feel like he's reversed our roles? I thought I was the strong, silent type_.

"I don't," Harry began, absently tugging on Louis' hair. "You're not," Harry struggled to formulate sentences out of his seemingly jumbled thoughts. "Lou, I like  _you_. I want to get to know you because you beguile me. You are befuddling, and obnoxious, and you have a charming sense of wit, and you scare the shit out of me. I want to know you. Let me help. I won't leave." Harry's words tumbled from his lips unhindered and unfiltered, and Louis found himself blushing at the use of his nickname rolling off Harry's tongue so naturally. Louis was touched by Harry's gentle entreaties, but his heart constricted in anguish. He couldn't let Harry in. It was too dangerous.

"But you've just met me. How could you be so intrigued by one encounter?" He paused, completely confused. His thoughts were jumbled, rolling around in his mind like rocks in a tumbler machine, clacking and smashing against each other feverishly in time with the twisting of the rollers.

Louis hardened his gaze and stared pointedly at an empathetic Harry who was blinking innocently down at him with dark, enchanting eyes. "You don't know what you're asking." Louis murmured darkly. Harry pursed his lips pensively. His thick eyebrows scrunched low against the tops of his eyelids, his eyes swimming with incomprehensible emotion. Louis held his breath.

"Do I?" Harry growled, yanking his fingers from Louis' hair roughly, causing Louis to give a small cry of pain. "You have  _no_ idea what I've been through. You know nothing about me! Just give me a fucking chance, please?" Harry had spit fire through the duration of his miniature rant, but he closed the monologue in a fragile tone, his lower lip visibly trembling. Louis sucked in a breath. The potential backlash from such a request could be devastating, and Louis had closed himself off for so long, was it really worth it to go through all of that again just to be perpetually broken? And who was to say that he wasn't already destroyed, a ghost of himself, living only to exist as a soulless entity, not concerned with the deeper stirrings of this life. Who also, could contest that Louis was required to be in the least bit one hundred percent  _honest_  with Harry? Louis could feed him surface niceties and false cheer until Harry grew tired of Louis and walked away because in all honesty Louis quite expected that of a man like Harry. Harry was too naive to see the emptiness that swallowed Louis whole. But that was alright for Louis. As long as he seemed to be letting Harry in. Give him a hint of the darkness.

"Okay," Louis consented, giving Harry a tender smile. "Let's try."

***

"I told you!" Harry jested, impishly giggling at an extremely annoyed Louis who had just earned his sixth gutter ball of the set. Harry danced in dizzy circles, his dimples creasing into a genuine smile. Louis rolled his eyes. After consenting to resume the date, Harry had become the unofficial host, ordering the employees around in a raspy, authoritative voice that went straight to Louis' crotch.

"Shut up, it's not my fault I've got a bum knee." Louis complained, plopping himself into the slick, tacky, grey and yellow fiberglass chair situated in their lane. Harry turned around in his slippery bowling shoes and gave Louis a demure little smirk.

"Stop blaming your inability to perform on a physical handicap, Mr Tomlinson, that's quite unbecoming of an attractive man such as yourself." Harry quipped, utilizing a plethora of intelligent vocabulary, causing Louis to blush timidly.  _Fucker_. Harry winked and spun around on the shiny wood floor, wobbling a bit on his gangly legs. Louis coughed on a giggle. For a man as appealing to look at as Harry Styles, he was insurmountably awkward.

Louis watched, entranced as Harry selected his weapon of choice from the roller lane, the array of weighty marble balls spinning erratically to the front of the holder in a frenzied pattern. Harry's slender fingers slipped into the grips easily, and Louis suppressed a moan, his mind spinning wild fantasies involving Harry's fingers and lots of rimming. Suddenly, Louis was rather uncomfortable in the fiberglass chair and he squirmed infinitesimally, trying to regain some of his composure. He eyed Harry speculatively, memorizing the way his hips swung slightly as he sauntered down the lane, bowling ball in hand. Louis felt a smile creep onto his lips as he watched Harry swing his right arm back slowly. Harry's muscles went taught as his arm reached its highest point in the pendulum-like motion, and Louis feverishly licked his lips, gripping the edge of the table fiercely. Harry let his arm fall forward, sending the marble ball spinning off of his fingers with built up momentum. He stretched on his tiptoes and clasped his hands in front of himself, watching nervously as the ball sped down the lane toward the unsuspecting pins. Louis chuckled. Harry put on a good show, but Louis knew that beneath the suave entrepreneur, a little boy hid inside, playing shyly with his poofy hair. Louis shook his head.  _Not now_. The crack of pins colliding shook Louis out of his mushy thoughts rather rapidly, and he found himself gasping. He flicked his eyes to the end of the lane and his jaw dropped in disbelief.

"That's three in a row, eh?" Harry said, chuckling. He was dancing a jig in his slippery shoes, his arms flapping out sporadically to help him keep his balance. Louis rolled his eyes and stood to take his turn.

"Oh, shut up, you oaf! I'll beat you yet!"

It was an empty promise, however, as the pair concluded their bowling jaunt with Louis' half-hearted cries of 'cheater!' And 'I demand a rematch!' As they exited the venue and tripped, giggling into the crisp night air. The atmosphere was light, happy even, and Louis found himself slowing his pace in an effort to prolong the feeling of weightlessness he was currently experiencing. An errant thought flitted into his mind, and Louis smiled briefly.

 

> _This weightlessness, this zero-gravity space he was floating in, this was all Harry's doing. Kind of like when you're on the moon. You're far away, you're floating, and nothing serious really matters so much out here in space, except for the moon that's only partially holding you in place. It's got just enough grip on you that you're not going too far, but you still have room to float in its orbit. Harry is the moon._

"Lou?" 

Harry's bassy voice jolted Louis out of the dreamy monologue he was creating in his mind and slammed him back into the present with alarming clarity. Harry was already perched in the passenger seat, leaning across the dark grey leather and out the open window, his arms precariously perched on the edge. Louis shook his head and opened the door, sliding inside with a huff. Louis was debating whether or not to speak, when Harry broke the silence.

"Back to mine?" Harry offered the question gently, as if he understood that Louis was recently back from being very, _very_ far away. Louis smirked the slightest bit. Time to reconstruct his walls. He turned the key in the ignition and the car whirred to life, blasting heat into their faces. 

"Shit, sorry." Louis said, fumbling for the adjustors, winding the knob almost down to one on the indicator so that the flow was reduced to a nice, calm puff of warm air in the cabin of the vehicle. Harry chuckled, fastening his seatbelt like a good little boy and flashing Louis a confident grin. "Yeah, back to yours. I can't stay, though. I have an appointment tomorrow at nine." Louis said perfunctorily. He led the car out of the space and let it roll slowly into the street. "You'll have to give me directions." He said rather unnecessarily, as Harry was opening his mouth to point out the first turn he'd have to make. Harry huffed.

"I was going to. If you'd let me." Harry said in a whiny, childish manner, and Louis glanced briefly at him, his lips quirking up ever so slightly at the tone in Harry's voice. Harry was biting his lip, glaring at Louis with an expression of annoyance painting his features in the shadow of the car. Louis motioned with a nod of his head for Harry to please continue so he'd know where the hell he was supposed to be going. Harry smirked. "Make a left on Driver, and take Morgan til it crosses Folwell." Harry said, falling into a sort of semi-comfortable silence in which Louis delicately tapped two of his fingers against the steering wheel as he concentrated on the instructions. He could feel Harry's eyes on him, but made no move to acknowledge them. _He can stare, if he wants_.

The ride was comfortable, and twenty minutes passed before Harry gave the final directions in a quiet voice, pointing with a slender finger at his house. Louis tutted to himself. Of _course_ Harry would live in a fucking cottage. Louis pulled up the short drive and put the car in park, leaving the engine running. He eyed the tiny house with disguised pleasure. The cottage was far from grand, nestled between two baby pines that swooshed softly in the frigid night air. Harry's house was a bit secluded, just off the main road, and he had what seemed to be two direct neighbors about an acre and a half apart from him on either side of his lacy white cottage. The roof was sheeted with dark blue water resistant tile, and crowned the house rather majestically for such a small structure. Louis speculated that Harry either had the house maintained regularly by a professional, or kept it pristine on his own. Louis decided it was probably the latter- he couldn't see Harry being the type to let anyone other than himself handle his treasures. And judging from the expression of awe in Harry's eyes, Louis stuck to the proposition that his house was most definitely one of the closest things to his heart. _Cute_. The shutters on each of the five windows matched the color of the roof, and the front porch wrapped elegantly around the circumference of the house in an inviting array of pillars and steps that seemed to whisper of castles and fairytales and happy-ever-after and _mainstream_. Outwardly, Louis appeared mildly disconnected, impressed but not overcome. On the inside, he was _elated_. Harry actually had marvelous taste. But Louis wasn't allowed to get attached, remember? So he quieted his inner fairy and unbuckled his seatbelt, silently motioning for Harry to do the same.

Harry grinned. Louis rolled his eyes and began to step out of the car.

"You like it?" Harry bellowed, slamming his door unnecessarily, causing Louis to flinch in annoyance. He _despised_ the mistreatment of his cars.

"S'alright. Kinda fairytale-ish, I guess." Louis offered, coming round to the front of the car so he could walk Harry to the door. Harry's shoulders sagged the tiniest bit, and Louis wondered briefly if he'd hurt Harry's feelings. _Of course not, don't be a tit._

"Oh."

Louis looked full-on at Harry then, surprised at the dullness of his tone. _Shit._  

"I like it, Harry. It suits you." Louis said honestly, allowing a real, albeit small smile to grace his lips. Harry beamed. Louis stared in wonder at the man before him, whose eyes shone like stars and whose heart seemed to emulate brazenly from his every pore, like beams of light from a bulb without a shade. He truly was breathtaking.

"Thank you." Harry replied. Louis blinked. They had reached Harry's doorstep somehow, and Harry now stood with his hand resting lightly on the ornate silver knob. Louis was suddenly uncomfortable. _Is he going to kiss me, because I don't know if I'm ready for that yet._ The voice in Louis' mind was screaming at him to just say thank you and get the fuck out of there but for some reason his limbs would not respond. He cautiously eyed Harry, who was patiently waiting for Louis to give him any indication of a response.

"Um," Louis managed not to think of a single thing to say, his heart palpitating wildly, his palms suddenly clammy and cold. Harry quirked his lips into a smile.

"Tonight was lovely. I'll call you tomorrow, then?" Harry took over, inching forward ever-so-slightly, so the space between them lessened infinitesimally. Louis gulped, nodding once. "What happened to Louis? I don't recall him ever being this quiet." Harry teased, laughing softly. "Or _nervous_ , for that matter." Harry added, leaning even closer. Louis was shaking. Before he realized what was happening, Harry was pressing his lips to the very corner of Louis' mouth in one of the lightest, gentlest semblances of a kiss that Louis had ever experienced. The touch of Harry's lips on Louis' face was enough to do Louis' into a right state.

In a matter of an instant, Harry's lips were gone and they hadn't even properly _kissed_ Louis and Louis was suddenly very, _very_ warm. He thought of nothing at all, and everything at once, and crazily enough he found himself stuttering, "I have to go, I have an appointment, I don't think your house is stupid, you have nice lips, I think I like you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Louis stumbled backwards into the front of the car with an 'oof!' and felt his face flush even deeper with another kind of embarrassment as he rushed to climb into the driver's seat and back out of Harry's driveway, only really _looking_ at Harry once he was completely pointed in the direction of his own home. The image shocked him. 

Harry hadn't gone inside like Louis assumed he would. Rather, Harry was standing at the door in the same position he'd held when Louis was accompanying him up, except for the fact that his other massive hand was splayed out in a frozen wave. A smile unlike any Louis had seen on Harry's face before now stretched across his features so widely that his eyes seemed to disappear in the crinkles of his face. It was kind of beautiful. Louis managed a half-lipped smile and quickly flung his hand up, mimicking Harry's goodbye wave which was actually fucking adorable if Louis was really thinking about it- he was- and Louis felt his heart soften a bit as he touched a hand to the left corner of his mouth. The corner that had been pressed against Harry's lips. The corner that still seemed to fizzle with electricity when Louis' fingers brushed over it again and again. 

By the time Louis reached the estate, his heart was torn between unraveling guilt and utter ecstasy. Guilt, because frankly, he rather adored tonight with Harry. That wasn't okay. He was supposed to be objective. He was _not_ supposed to be _feeling anything_ for Harry because feelings led to irrational actions like more interaction, and attachment, and love, and most importantly, utter ruin. That was all Louis knew of love, and so feeling anything for Harry outside of respect for good business was in fact forbidden by Louis' own installment of mandates concerning his personal life. As previously stated though, Louis was euphoric. Euphoric because, for the first time in _eons_ Louis had enjoyed himself in the company of someone he didn't have a prior business relationship with. Deep down, Louis knew this was illogical and wrong, very wrong, but his heart hammered away in a symphony of emotion that had long been hidden away in one of the furthest corners of his soul. At least, what Louis imagined to have been his soul because he really wasn't sure if he still had one.  The mixture of fear and joy and anguish and guilt spun like a whirlwind in Louis' heart and he sank gratefully into his mattress, not bothering to even kick off his shoes. 

If he breathed hard enough, Louis could smell a hint of cinnamon on his coat, a reminder that Harry had indeed touched a part of him that no man had dared to even skim over in the time that Louis had been part of the Brimangham Lions Football Club. Harry had opened Pandora's box. It was only a matter of time before the consequences of such actions would be felt in the full extent by everyone around Louis, but most devastatingly by Louis himself. 

That is why, when Louis' eyes drifted closed that night, he felt a shudder of foreboding ripple through him, and even medication couldn't keep his nightmares at bay.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, I have to elongate a lot of this because I'm a stickler for long chapters and following my outlines...
> 
> p.s. I found some really good instrumentals to write this chapter to and you should really check them out...
> 
> http://8tracks.com/la-dolce-vita/melancholic-solitude-part-2
> 
>  
> 
> Love you more than Jane loved Darcy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is really short and I think I'm going to change it eventually. If you have any questions feel free to ask me, or tweet me @allegoricalarry or ask me on tumblr @heloveslouonly okay kisses and butterflies to any of you sweet precious people that took the time to read this. I love you more than Gatsby loved Daisy.


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